


extraneous

by unfoundedrevenge



Category: Final Space (Cartoon)
Genre: Brainwashing, Emetophobia, Gen, Graphic Description, Graphic Description of Corpses, Hospitals, Knives, Mind Control, Self-Harm, Serious Injuries, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Wrists
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:54:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22163620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfoundedrevenge/pseuds/unfoundedrevenge
Summary: Tell me, is that comfort? Is that success?He is silent, eyes stinging, and that is answer enough.-im back on my bullshit
Comments: 20
Kudos: 82





	1. i

"It's perplexing," Invictus croaks, staring down at the human below. The red fog undulates around it in billowing, greedy waves. It obscures the unkempt cabin surroundings. "A million different timelines, and this Goodspeed is the only one to have stayed alive at this length."

The human swallows and shifts, revealing his prosthetic arm to the air. Invictus swoops down further. It branches out a tendril and gently, carefully, caresses his chin.

"What makes this incarnation so special, so unique, so infuriating?" It tilts the chin back to expose the carotid artery, laying under fragile and pale human skin. How desperately it wants to slash it open. "You are an extraneous variable in an otherwise perfect plan. A vile wrench in the gears that should not exist. You are of much greater use to me dead than alive. If I had greater power on the physical plane, you would have ceased to be before you found even a single dimensional key."

The titan feels a smile distort its features.

"However, there exists just one advantage to your feeble survival. We made contact, a connection, for I have inhabited your body once before. And while I am quite painfully aware of the futility of any further attempts to possess you, you are in my domain now. And thusly, it allows me to do this."

And the fog settles over and into the human's skin, dense and possessive. He frowns in his sleep and lets out a gentle noise of discomfort. Invictus feels the connection between them grow stronger.

"You see, Goodspeed, that I have come to comprehend the error of my first methods in trying to modify your thoughts. I saw you as I see most humans: egotistical by nature, easily swayed by illusions of grandeur. But not you. Even when possessed, my hold on you was not as nearly as strong as my will against the Ventrexian. This is when I realized that you are of an entirely different breed: one of a complete and utter lack of self-preservation, of damaged mental stability. I believe that I can work with that. We will have to modify in gradual increments, so as to not arouse the suspicion of that pesky brat. Nonetheless, I will be thorough in my brainwashing."

Another tendril sprouts from their form and cards through the human's hair in a mockery of something soothing. His forehead is sweaty.

"I am nothing short of a perfectionist. I will even out the timelines so that not a single trace of your disgusting creed will exist anywhere in the multiverse, forevermore. And by time I am finished with my grand design for you, my puppet, death will be a begged-for release."

-

When Gary wakes up, he feels like ass. Like, if ass were left on a hot summer sidewalk to cook, and then thrown into a papershredder: that kind of ass. 

Avocato walks in on him brushing his teeth in the communal bathroom.

"Damn, baby, you look like ass."  
"Really," Gary says around a mouthful of toothpaste. "Hadn't noticed."

And he really does look the part. His face is flushed and his eyes are glassy. God, he couldn't even get his hair right. What is up with him today?

"Kitty's got claws," Avocato laughs, sidling up beside the other. Gary snorts at the irony and spits out some of the paste.

"Real funny," he mumbles before splashing some water on his face. He squeezes his eyes shut against the cold, hoping it will refresh him. It doesn't. "But really, I'm all good, just supes tired."

Avocato plucks his own tooth brush from the holder.

"Just one of those days?"  
"Yep."

-

Every day, he wakes up a little worse for wear, a little more frayed around the edges. The others notice.

-

"Dad!" Little Cato chirps after lunch on a particularly bad day. All Gary wants to do is hide under the covers in his cabin and not talk to anyone. But he doesn't have the luxury.

So not talking to your son and crew is a luxury now? What the fuck is up with you?

"Yeah, buddy?" he asks with as much forced laid-back tone as he can.

"I was thinking," the kid says, twirling smoothly around to block Gary's path in the hall. "Me, you, Final Space star charting. There are some really cool constellations here!"

"Oh, kiddo, I," Gary starts. Exhaustion pulls on his ankles at the mere thought of socializing for that long. "I'm not feeling too well, I think I'm gonna go do some maintenance in the lower levels if that's cool."

Little Cato's expression of excitement doesn't change.

"Cool, me and Dad can help!" he says as he whips back around to Gary's side. Something like dread crawls up his throat and he wants to vomit it all out.

"Actually," he laughs and it sounds choked even to himself. Little Cato looks at him with curious and hopeful eyes. Gary keeps a smile on, but he knows his eyes are squinting with fatigue. "Would it be alright if I made this a solo mission, little buddy?"

Little Cato blinks into an expression of badly hidden disappointment and Gary wants to deck himself.

"Oh, yeah, totally," Little Cato stutters out. Then he puts on an incredibly fake smile. Wonder where he got that from. Dickhead. "Good luck with that! Call if you need anything!"

And he runs ahead without looking back.

\- 

Gary is in the bowels of the ship, doing maintenance on a small offset of the main engine, when his hand brushes against an exacto knife at the bottom of his tool kit.

It's ten seconds before he realizes that he has taken it out and unsheathed the blade, holding it tightly in front of him in his prosthetic hand. He can't bring himself to put it down. 

Oh.

O-oh, God.

-

"Hue!" Gary yells after the ambling robot, finding him just outside his little closet. He turns around.

"Hello, Gary, what is the matter?"

Gary looks left and right as casually as he can, before leaning in. 

"Can, can we talk in your room - please?" he asks, trying his best to sound the least manic as possible. There is a pause where Hue just looks at him, and Gary is quickly put under the impression that his efforts had no effect.

"Yes, of course, Gary," Hue replies, and the automatic door to the room slides open. The two walk in - Gary having to crouch down in the small space - until they are both seated facing eachother.

Hue doesn't start, because of course he doesn't. It's always been that way.

"It's," Gary starts, then swallows around a sandpaper throat. When was the last time he drank water, holy shit. "It's happening again, Hue."

Hue blinks with mechanical eyelids.

"I will need you to be more specific."

Gary knows his cheeks and neck are red, feels the warmth creeping up. He frowns.

"You know how, o-on the Galaxy One, you always gave me those, um.. you knows, to take."

"Gary, are you referring to your prescribed medications for your sui-"

"YES," Gary says fast and so loudly that it even grates on his own nerves. "Yes, those, that. I need them again. Please."

"Facticulating.."

Gary drums his fingers against the floor.

"As you are aware of, we lost your supply with the Galaxy One. The manufacturers of the pills were native to Earth. I am afraid that finding a replacement may prove difficult, especially in this dimension."

"C-come on, man, please. There's gotta be something else."

Hue stands up and ambles over to the other's side. Gary searches his robotic face - for what, he doesn't know.

"As I stated on the Galaxy One, the only other available and recommended option is to engage in psychological therapy."

Hue is greeted to the nostalgic sight of the other's expression turning completely closed off. 

"No," Gary clips.

"KVN is, as you would say, a total jag. But as I have told you previously, I am also equipped and programmed with cognitive behavioral therapy and crisis intervention techniques."

Gary remembers the guitar string incident. He stills.

"Wait," he whispers as his blood runs cold. "You're not going to tell the others about this, are you?"

Hue is quiet as he takes Gary's hand in his own. Gary scrambles to stand.

"Because I-I don't want them to know!"

"Gary, you are no longer a prisoner, and so your business is your own," Hue intones. "But I think that it would be best if you had Ava and I hide the sharp objects aboard the ship."

Gary suddenly feels very, very claustrophobic.

"No, no no no, that would tip off everyone." The words spill from his tongue. "They're going to realize when the freaking kitchen knives are gone, Hue!"

"Gary, your pulse and breathing are very erratic."

"Th-then don't tell them!" he exclaims.

And wow, he really is hyperventilating, huh. Been a while since that happened. But he can't stop it, or the buzzing in his ears. 

"Gary-"

He whips down and picks up Hue in shaking hands, and he knows he's squeezing hard.

"Don't say a word or else!"

And it seems like the world shifts back into focus. He is in Hue's room - in Hue's room and.. and..

"Gary," Hue says gently. "Are you threatening me?"

A chill runs down his spine. Oh, my God, he was about to hurt Hue. A choked exhale leaves him and he drops Hue on his feet to the floor.

"I-I'm," he gasps, backing toward the door. "I'm sorry."

And before Hue can say anything else, he runs.

-

That night - after Gary checks to make sure the knives are still in the kitchen's utensil drawer, the distrust making him shameful - a new voice joins his thoughts. 

If it sounds nothing like his own, he does not notice.

-

Gary stares out at the command deck's grand window, thousands of corpses floating past. He doesn't know what made him get out of bed at 2 am, but now he's here, and he can't look away. His throat burns.

The only Goodspeed left across the multiverse, and this is what you have amounted to: a terrible father and friend, a pathetic waste. Do you think you deserve to be the last alive, Goodspeed?

Gary swallows. No. No, he doesn't. A particularly mangled corpse - neck flayed open - floats by.

Look at these bodies: stripped of life. However, they know more peace than you do, don't they? The worst for them has long past. 

He.. he never thought of it like that before. Something like envy stirs between his ribs. He can't bring himself to question it.

And yet, the worst is yet to come for your pitiful human life. You will surely make more despair for yourself, as it seems to be your one and only talent. Tell me, is that comfort? Is that success?

He is silent, eyes stinging, and that is answer enough.

You are an anomaly, someone whose very existence is inappropriate, a scourge on the world around you. An anomaly is what took Quinn from you, destroyed the Earth - killed your father. Do you understand now, Goodspeed? You are a source of misery for both yourself and those around you.

He knows he is hyperventilating again. He can see his breath fogging up the glass in aggressive puffs. There are so many corpses.

You know what the solution is, to all of this. You must right the wrong. Complete the chain. Destroy the anomaly.

So many. 

Right the wrong. Complete the chain. Destroy the anomaly.

Right the wrong. Complete the chain. Destroy the anomaly.

I am so glad that you understand.

Right the wrong. Complete the chain, destroy th-

"Hey."

And he starts, whipping his head around. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are wild and afraid and vulnerable.

Then he blinks twice, releases a shuddering breath, and smears the smile back on his face.

"Hey, Quinn!" he exclaims, voice too loud, too fast. She doesn't wince. "What brings you to the ol' command deck? Nothing special to see - same corpses, different day, am I right?"

He laughs, but it's not the natural one that occurs when Little Cato tells a good joke or when KVN slams into a wall. It's manic and uncomfortable. She narrows her eyes.

"The rest of the crew is asleep," she states, more bluntly than she means to. The lack of rest, nights full of worry, are getting to her.

"Well, yeah, I-I know," he laughs as he leans against the glass, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "But somebody's gotta watch out for the Titans and other such spookems."

"No, you don't, we have Ava for that." There's no bite to her words, but her hard gaze betrays her lack of patience. Under its intense scrutiny, his smile falls slowly, little by little, until it is gone completely. She won't break eye contact.

"What.." he croaks, and swallows audibly. He looks sick. "What do you even want me to say..?"

She feels her heart soften at the broken tone, and so she steps a little closer. 

"What I want," she continues. "Is for you to stop pretending like everything's okay when something's clearly not."

He says nothing, staring down hopelessly at the metal flooring. If he's close to tears she doesn't point it out.

"We are literally stuck in a hell dimension full of thousands upon thousands of your dead bodies," she implores, gesturing to the window. He seems to stiffen at that. "You don't have to deal with that alone. A captain has a crew for a reason."

And to her disbelief, he starts walking away from her. Annoyance flares in her chest, and she grabs his metal wrist.

"Excuse me? We aren't done talki-"  
"Tomorrow," he mutters, and he turns his head over his shoulder to reveal those familiar weary eyes. "I'll tell one of the adults on the crew how I've been feeling. But tomorrow."

And her instincts kick in, a chill at the base of her neck, that this is a bad idea and wrong in 47 different ways. Her grip tightens unconsciously.

"Please," he practically begs, voice a whisper. 

And against her better judgement, she lets go.

The pads of his boots echo through the room as he leaves.

-

The next morning, Little Cato licks his plate clean before slamming it down on the table top.

"That was so freakin' good!" 

Hue winks with a mechanical eyelid, posing stiffly, spatula in hand.

"I am glad that I am able to make our rations more tolerable," he says proudly.

Quinn smiles softly at the exchange.

"Gary's late to breakfast again?" Ash whispers to Fox, and there her smile goes. It was nice while it lasted.

She stands up abruptly, accidentally so, and the whole crew turns to look at her. Oops.

"I'm gonna go wake Gary up," she states simply, before turning heel and walking away. She doesn't want to see their badly-hidden sad faces. It's a quiet walk to his room.

She steps up to Gary's metal door.

"Hey," she says, knocking just once. "Breakfast is ready."

The electronics in the walls buzz. No response. Her frown deepens.

"Gary," she calls, firmly, with a sharp wrap against the door. "We're all waiting for you in the meeting room."

More silence, and Quinn feels like quite the idiot, talking to a door like this. Her shoulders slump and she leans her weight against it.

"Ash is worried about you, and I don't know what to do," she practically whispers. The vulnerability in her voice makes her feel small. "I don't know what to say anymore."

Then, very quietly, she hears it. A voice.

"Gary?" she perks up. There is some more silence, and then a whimper. 

"I-I'm trying, please, I really am..!" she hears. Her teeth clench.

"That's it - I'm using the emergency entry code," she says as a warning, an invitation to stop her. He doesn't take it.

She taps at the keypad to her right with scarred hands - thinner than they used to be. The door slides open.

And she is greeted to the sight of Gary on his knees, an exacto blade to his right, bloodied hands picking at cuts on his forearms.

She feels like she's underwater. His mouth is moving but she can't hear anything. He hasn't even noticed her come in. 

Blood drips in shaky lines from his wrist onto the cardinal blue sheets below him. She watches him shred at his own skin: peeling, tearing, all in silence. Until something breaks through.

"DAD!!"

Little Cato followed her there.

It's instinct when she thrusts out an arm to stop the teen from going any further. 

"Dad, D-Dad!!" he shouts, pushing against Quinn with surprising force. 

"Go get Hue and Avocato," she says firmly, not daring to look away. She walks hesitantly into the room. Gary hasn't even spared them a glance.

She crouches down to his level. Sweat is matting his blonde hair to his forehead, above bright red cheeks and manic eyes. The words are more coherent this close.

"Right the wrong, complete the chain, destroy the anomaly. Right the wrong, complete the chain, destroy the anomaly..!" he mutters feverishly. A particularly large rivulet bubbles under his scraping prosthetic index finger. Quinn feels lightheaded, or maybe she's just dissociating - or both.

"Gary," she says softly, and the mutterings stop, but the skin picking continues. There are definitely tears in his eyes.

"Quinn, I-" Little Cato starts, but when he receives a hard look over her shoulder, he promptly runs down the hall.

"I'm trying my best, I-I really am, okay..?" Gary whimpers, and it's almost child-like. The skin on his wrist is painted in red up to his elbow.

"Of course you are, Gary, we know that," she says, and is quite surprised to find her voice to be something in the universe of soothing. Being caring was never really her strong suit.

Gary ceases his picking. Some of the stress seems to leave Quinn's body.

Until his trembling prosthetic hand grabs the exacto blade and promptly jams it into the wound.

"G-Gary!" Quinn gasps, wrenching it away from him. She is thankful to see that the amount of blood that flows forward is minimal - it must be dull. 

"J-just let me do this! I need to do this!!" he sobs, trying weakly to get it back. Quinn swiftly moves to stand and back away, knife behind her back.

Avocato arrives, Hue under his arm. His jaw promptly drops at the sight.

"What in the hell..?" he gapes, with good reason: his best friend is crying loudly while ripping a hole in his wrist. Hue squirms slightly out of his grasp and falls to his feet with a gentle thud.

"R-right the wrong, complete the ch-chain, destroy the anomaly..!"

"Gary," Hue intones, and to Quinn's surprise, Gary actually stills and turns his head to look at the robot. His twitching hands, however, betray how close he is to going back to his work. "I am going to begin our usual list of facts. Listen carefully, please"

The room has gone quiet, eerily so. Hue walks very slowly to approach the other.

"Your name is Gary Goodspeed. You are 32 years old. You are a human being from Earth. Do you remember my name?" 

Gary's eyebrows furrow. He jerks his head once, violently, before going back to scratching. New blood bubbles forth through the dark red beginnings of scabs.

"Right the wrong, c-complete the chain, destroy the anomaly..!"

Hue keeps walking. 

"My name is Hue. I am an AI program that has known you for more than 5 years. We have done this before." 

He steps just in front of the other.

"My calculations have determined that if you do not stop harming your person, you will soon hit an artery, and die," he states calmly.

Gary seems to only get more aggressive with his clawing. His breath hitches, denoting his pain.

A mechanical sigh exits Hue's form.

And then the hand he had been holding behind his back, shifted into the shape of a face mask, snakes around and presses firmly over the other's mouth and nose. 

"Mmph-!"  
"You will feel better once you get some rest."

A loud hiss resonates from his form and a flash of betrayal goes through the other's eyes before they begin to flutter shut, anesthesia taking effect. Gary's hands drop lifelessly to his sides, palm up. He tilts forward and onto Hue's metal front. 

"It's a good thing we went ahead and dulled all the knives on the ship, huh?" Ava deadpans.

But nobody replies.


	2. ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i fully intended to make this a one shot until the final space instagram came into my house and smashed invictus saying "bend and become voiceless" over my head, killing me instantly

Gary lays in the med bay pod, wrist bandaged, face peaceful. Little Cato hasn't looked away since he was brought down an hour ago, paw on the glass.

"You're saying this isn't the first time he's done something like this?" Quinn asks, arms crossed. Her shoulders are hunched and she's shaking almost imperceptibly. 

Hue nods his head - a ridiculously slow and stiff motion with a whirring behind it. It somehow makes Quinn want to throw him out of the space lock, but she knows that taking her frustration out on her crew will solve nothing.

"There was one attempt nearing the end of his first year on the Galaxy One. After it, I was able to contact Earth and arrange for prescribed anti-depressants. I do not believe he was a fan of the recovery process following his attempt, and so he took the pills without a struggle."

"And they were lost with the Galaxy One, weren't they," Avocato speaks, scowling from his place against the wall.

"Yes. In the commotion of gathering the dimensional keys, Gary did not ask for or seek out more. I decided to respect his decision and not press," Hue explains, face unchanging, while his robotic voice betrays just the slightest hint of emotion. "However, I fear now that that was not the right decision."

"I guess you didn't want to come off like his warden anymore, huh," Little Cato says from his post. His back is turned, but his scratchy voice is heard by all. Hue seems to deflate just slightly.

"I suppose so."

A thick silence permeates the room, the four of them aimless in the face of this situation.

That is, until Gary's eyes open.

"He's waking up..!" The adults hear Little Cato gasp. Avocato and Quinn start and rush up behind him. The padding of small feet behind her indicates to Quinn that Hue is following suit.

"Dropping barrier," Ava says over the speakers, and the glass dome slides over and into the medical table. 

Gary's eyes are unfocused and lined in shadows. His eyelids flutter, struggling to stay open, staring at nothing. 

Until his gaze shifts, with tremendous effort, to his right. And they widen.

His breathing picks up with a speed that none of them were expecting. He squirms in the bed, clearly overwhelmed, eyes flickering every which way.

"We need to give him space," Hue states plainly. "Little Cato, Quinn, I do not expect you to leave, because you are incredibly stubborn individuals, but please go stand in the doorway."

"Hey-!"  
"Come on, Little Cato," Quinn says tiredly, hand firm on his shoulder. He resists, and for a second she thinks she's gonna have to fight him on this, but his posture shrinks and he lets her pull him away.

"Gary, hey, it's cool, it's just us," Avocato reassures, kneeling down awkwardly, unsure exactly what to do in this unfamiliar circumstance.

The human flexes his fingers at his sides, digging nails into the bed below. He sucks air through his teeth.

"You injured your wrist," Hue explains. He's extended his legs so that he can see over the table. "But I am glad to see that you are still able to move your fingers, however painful. There should be no permanent damage."

Gary lifts his prosthetic arm, hand in a claw and shaking, to his wrist. 

"No," Avocato says bluntly as he reaches out and firmly puts it back down against the bed spread without missing a beat.

Gary's eyebrows furrow for a moment in frustration before the will to tear at his veins seems to escape him with a long suffering exhale through the nose. He shifts his arms slightly, seemingly without reason or purchase, until a light goes on for Hue - literally.

"Ah, you want to sit up," he realizes. Hue quickly presses a button under the table, and the bed angles upward with a low hum. 

Just that gentle motion seems to make Gary go green. Avocato watches his Adam's apple bob with an uneven swallow, his eyes unfocusing. The Ventrexian stands up.

"Uh, hey, maybe you should rest some m-" He starts to say, but Gary's eyelids flutter and suddenly he's tilting over the side of the bed. Avocato catches him at the shoulders. 

"Dad!" Little Cato yells from the doorway. 

"Holy shit," Avocato mutters at the situation, or maybe even at the universe, honestly. "Yeah, no, you're not going anywhere." He feels Gary heaving hot breaths on his chest, a metal hand digging into his hip like a lifeline. Absently, he wonders if it will bruise.

"I doubt he's eaten much, if at all, in the past few days, though," Quinn warns from a distance. "He should have lunch, even if it's only a few bites."

And wow, the grip gets tighter - definitely gonna bruise now.

"You're in luck, Gary," Hue starts, switching from his usual monotone to a just slightly more jovial monotone - one he usually only reserves for the children in the crew. "While breakfast is mostly gone, there are some leftover butter wheat crunch pancakes in the f-"

Gary vomits unceremoniously onto Avocato's combat boots.

-

He eats about 3 bites - which, to be fair, is roughly the same amount of bites he takes of butter wheat crunch pancakes on a good day. They're agonizingly slow bites from a trembling spoon, but bites all the same. 

Hue is exiting the infirmary with a barely touched plate when he sees Sheryl leaning against the hallway wall. Her arms are crossed and her face is pinched.

He starts to walk away from her.

"This has happened before - is that right?" she says after a beat, voice pensive. Hue's facial recognition software seems to be detecting hints of frustration, but at whom he has no clue.

"Yes," he replies curtly, because an AI does not forget. Sheryl knows exactly how he and most of the other members of the crew feel about her.

To her credit, she never fights them on it.

"And he's," Sheryl begins. Her stance shifts a bit. Hue thinks she is weighing her words carefully. Good. "I heard the Tryvuulian say he's not talking. That true?"

"Yes," Hue says. "That, however, has not occurred before."

Sheryl grunts, nodding her head and twisting her mouth in a way that betrays the fact that she is 100% biting the insides of her cheeks raw. Hue turns and begins padding away, plate in hand.

"Thanks."

Hue pauses.

"You are welcome."

If he hears the sound of Sheryl sliding her back down the wall, taking post at her son's door, he does not acknowledge it.

-

The rest of the day goes on without incident. People come and go from the infirmary, holding one-sided conversations. Ash tells bad sardonic jokes, Quinn recounts old adventures, and Little Cato holds his hand and tells him he loves him. Gary will occasionally give the rare nod or shake of the head, but that's about it, expression remaining worn and distant. Fox is just thankful that he's responsive in any form.

It's far past the usual lights out for the crew by the time Avocato next enters the medical bay. Gary hasn't slept a wink as far as anyone has seen, so he can't help the quiet sigh that escapes him when he sees the other's eyes open.

He approaches the bed carefully and places a hand on the sheets, just beside the other's flesh arm.

"Man, on top of everything else, the sleep deprivation cannot be helping," he sighs. "I.. can't say I blame you for not being able to fall asleep, though."

He can tell Gary is listening by the way his eyes shift just so, blinking rapidly, as if attempting intensely to focus. The others have noticed that when they speak to him, too.

Avocato takes a leap of faith and gently places his hand in the other's. There's no adverse reaction, not even a jolt. His skin is clammy.

"Maybe it would be for the best if Ava administered some more anesthesia," Avocato thinks aloud, and suddenly there are nails digging into his palm, forceful and warning and scared. He manages not to yell out at the sudden pain.

"D-dude, what's wrong?" Avocato yelps. Part of him wants to wrench his hand away, but an even larger part of him fears that this will cut off this new form of communication. So he doesn't.

Gary's metal arm shakes up from his side and goes to rest gently on his abdomen. It seems to take great effort, but he turns his head carefully and meets his eyes. Green and disparate.

O-oh. Oh.

"Jesus - Ava! Has he even been to the bathroom since this morning?" he exclaims to the ceiling.

"We have bed pans available if he would like," is all he gets in reply. The pressure is back on his hand, this time with less nails and more pads of the fingers, firm and sweaty. That's all he needs to make up his mind.

"Damn, Ava, I'll take him - let him have that, at least," he spits, annoyed with the vast knowledge and unending obtuseness of the AI. He squeezes Gary's hand back lightly before releasing and standing up at full height. 

"You can use me as a crutch to get to the bathroom, okay?" Avocato asks, voice softening, and the other seems to sit just the slightest bit straighter at that. "But if you need a wheelchair or something 'cause you've barely eaten, tap me three times on the arm. That cool?"

Gary is still keeping eye contact. He has to tell Quinn the good news later. Gary nods, a jerking motion, clutching his stomach.

Avocato sweeps his left arm under and around the other's armpits, the right snaking under his knees. He shifts Gary carefully until he's perched on the edge of the bed. Gary holds his shoulder for dear life.

"And to the floor," Avocato mumbles, guiding him to an - albeit hunched and weak-kneed - standing position. It makes the Ventrexian smile softly.

They take a few steps toward the door at the other end of the med bay until Avocato remembers the woman standing guard just outside.

"Ava, tell the person in the hall that we're leaving for the bathroom," he says as casually as possible. Considering Gary's state, and having been brought up to speed about everything that happened while he was, well.. dead, he doesn't think seeing her would be the best idea at the moment.

"Alright."

When they eventually make it to the door, it slides open with a hum. Nobody is on the other side.

-

Thankfully the bathroom isn't far, just after the bend in the hallway. Gary doesn't tap his arm, a determined but mildly nauseous face on the whole trip. Avocato thinks, warmly, that there's the Gary he knows.

"Okay, bud, I'll wait out here," he says as he slowly releases him from the crutch hold. "If you need help, knock on the wall 3 times, same rules."

And the strangest thing happens. He smiles. Gary smiles, fragile and tired, for the first time all day. If Avocato could, he would freeze that moment in time, just like this.

But Gary turns around slowly, shuffling into the bathroom. 

And the door closes behind him in the silence.

-

Five minutes pass. No knocking, thankfully. Avocato leans against the door frame, allowing his face to fall for this small break where he doesn't have to pretend that everything's okay.

Little Cato comes jogging down the hall.

"Hey Dad," he chirps, coming to a stop in front of him. He rocks on his heels. "What'cha doing?"

Avocato gestures with his chin toward the bathroom.

"Escorted him here," he says simply. The wind seems to be mildly knocked out of Little Cato's sails for a second as he plants both feet back on the ground.

"Oh," he replies. "Well, uh, I wanted to cut up some food for me, Ash, and Fox to eat, but since all the, uh.."

Avocato nods.

"..Yeah. I was hoping I could borrow your pocket knife," Little Cato finishes. Avocato shrugs and reaches for the side of his belt. 

"Just bring it straight back to me as soon as you're finished, but not when I'm on Gary duty," he says sternly. His paws press to his belt.

Huh?

He digs his fingers under the belt where a hidden strap he usually keeps a small switchblade in is. There's no knife.

"Dad?" Little Cato asks, genuinely confused. Avocato checks his pockets, front and back. Nothing.

"I can't find my switchblade," he mutters, patting himself down. 

"Did you use it recently?" Little Cato questions. He steps closer, eyebrows furrowed.

"Not in months," Avocato mumbles. This was ridiculous. He always carried it around with him in case of emergency - more so now than ever, as it was probably the only knife on the ship that was still —.

Avocato's head snaps up and apparently his expression is something alarming because Little Cato flinches.

"How did Gary say he made money on Earth while he was homeless again?"

Little Cato seems to soften at that. His eyes light up at the thought of the man's lively exploits.

"Oh, that's easy. Apparently he was really good at pickpo—."

He freezes, eyes widening. The two Ventrexians look at eachother.

He feels Gary heaving hot breaths on his chest, a metal hand digging into his hip like a lifeline. Absently, he wonders if it will bruise.

Avocato whips around and bangs a fist on the bathroom door twice.

"Gary!" he yells. "You okay in there?!"

No response, because of course there isn't. He hears Little Cato's breathing pick up behind him.

"Fuck," he curses, fingers flying to the keypad. "I'm coming in!"

There are a tense 5 seconds where beeps resonate in the air. Little Cato clenches his teeth hard enough to break. And then the door opens.

He's not in there. Nobody is, in fact, everything looks barely touched.

Except for the ventilation shaft above the toilet, wide open, its grate on the floor.

-

"You can't catch me, you can't catch me!" Harp laughs, running circles around Ash in a field of lush greens and beautiful yellow flowers. It's not like anything found on Serepentis - it's unmarred and pristine and alive.

Ash sticks out her tongue in focus, getting into a charging position low to the ground. Her bare feet push into the ground, grass between her toes.

"I'm gonna get you, just you wait!!" she exclaims as she rushes upward and forward. Ash doesn't have her powers, but she doesn't need them - not here. Her feet pound against the valley as she sprints towards her fleeing, cackling sister. She feels lighter, younger, less weighed down - even if she can't fly.

As she gets closer, Ash focuses on her sister's pink hair, bobbing with her gait. Even touching a single strand counts in tag, and she's so close. Ash reached out toward it.

And promptly falls face first on the ground.

"Ow.." Ash mumbles around a mouthful of dirt. She hears Harp come to a stop and heave a fond sigh. Foot steps approach.

"Ashy, silly, get up," she giggles. A hand runs through her long hair, gentle and caring.

"Mm," Ash huffs, making a home in the grass. "Five more minutes."

"Ash."

The hand stops. Ash makes a noise of protest and looks up.

Only to come face to face with the decayed form of her dead sister.

"GET UP!" Harp shrieks, spit flying from her rotting teeth. The hand in her hair becomes a vice grip. 

"H-Harp..?!" she gasps - but her sister continues to scream, eyes glazed a sickly orange.

"GET UP!

GET UP!

G E T U P !!"

-

And she does.

Only to find Gary Goodspeed standing over her bed, knife in trembling hand.

**Author's Note:**

> yall hear sumn


End file.
